Waiting for the white

The lilies that appeared

at my door

prematurely

didn’t wake

until I stopped

watching.

As I turned

my back,

they looked out of the rain-trodden window

and waited for my eager eyes:

to return; to massage the cold pane.

I’m waiting.

I must

until the lilies whisper-

when the gentle whisper turns into a breeze.

I’ll turn around and bathe in the aroma

of the soft, pure petals.

The nectar-filled, cordovan bananas balance from the arm and

I’m thinking of how the nectar will

stick to my palms like syrup,

how it will stroke every wrinkle of my hand.

I want to create a collage with my ox-blood stains.

lily

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The journey to Davy Jones’ Locker

My mind is lubricated

with the wine of thought-

it seeps pleasure

and craves empty bottles.

 

The tornado of infinite joy

licks the glass

like an overzealous lover.

 

When the glass becomes dry

the pirates’ wife comes out to play.

 

She teases my lips,

numbs my throat

then contaminates my cadaver

with her black, spicy spirit.

 

Her whisper is a

clap of thunder

and captures me

like a grapnel

as I become squiffy

and load the gun walls.

 

Avast!

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Our fragments

I gave you the stars, you passed me a rose.

I told you a story, you sighed.

I listened to you and your tangled worries and waited for you to listen to mine.

I’m neglected and you’re still aching.

I can’t extricate the bonds

but I promise you that

I’ll always be patient.

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Disorder

coffee

That caffeine high.

 

Coffee o’clock

insert creative fuel

#coffegasm Shhhh…

seduce my delusional heart.

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The best of two beautiful storms

The best of two beautiful stormsA little festival

between us.
This great invention

to display our emotions of wanting:

to turn pain on Earth

to make you smile

“I’m here for you”

you understand

there’s nothing left because you knew.

 

 

 

…I’ve posted this poem about 10 times and each time I post it the format looks awful. This is my final attempt of posting it so please forgive my poor soul if it appears shit.

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A letter to you

Dear whoever

Dear whoever

 

don’t stress

stop waiting

you can not be silent

forget.

 

you are the thing people don’t understand

humans leave

the world is about pain.

 

sincerely Becky Forbes

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And the cold air accumulates

I saw a tear on my left leather boot

last Wednesday evening.

I continued to wear them

because they still carried out their duties,

such as walking through tinnitus, beacons and illusions.

I knew they weren’t in a good condition.

Now I’m sat in a hospital.

My skinny jeans are restricting me

and I watch patients float through on trolleys.

The medics behind are camouflaged

and their voices contrast.

I wish I wasn’t so arrogant.

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